


Wandering Eyes

by whereismygarden



Series: play on, give me excess [4]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M, Golden Lace
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-06
Updated: 2013-04-06
Packaged: 2017-12-07 14:47:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 723
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/749722
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whereismygarden/pseuds/whereismygarden
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Flesh versus wit in Gold's shop. Lacey!Belle.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wandering Eyes

**Author's Note:**

> This is underage Lacey!Belle, so look out for that.

Lacey walked into Gold’s shop after school ended: really, she should be heading home and getting ready for a five-hour shift, but she wanted to bait him. She had deliberately worn a shirt cut so low that the edge of her bra was visible, but fairly modest jeans. This was a subtle game, she sensed. She left the earbuds of her mp3 player in her ear when she walked in, for confidence, pausing in the middle of a rather impassioned chorus.

                The shop was truly impressive, she had to admit. She could spend hours in there, looking over all the mundane and bizarre things he had displayed. He looked up at the sound of the bell when she walked in, but said nothing. She ignored him in turn, prodding at a set of figurines carved in pale wood. A dragon, some kind of tiger-like monster, a wolf, a scorpion, and a coiled, two-headed snake. They were pretty things, smooth and delicate, with a slight shine. She heard the tapping of his cane behind her and tensed a little.

                “Elm wood,” he said quietly, plucking the tiger-thing from her hand. “The work, though very delicate, was all done with a medieval-style dagger, not a knife.” He went on to explain about the nature of the cuts and the angles required, which made Lacey’s eyes glaze over a little, then set it back down on its shelf. “But it’s not antique work,” he finished.

                “Interesting,” she said, in a tone that conveyed her disinterest as fully as possible.

                “Interested?” he asked, just slightly overemphasizing the last syllable. She tilted her head back and forth, as though deliberating, noting with an inward sense of triumph that his eyes drifted to her half-exposed breasts. He wasn’t immune, anyway.

                “My face is right here,” she said, deciding to go in for the kill. This was somewhat effective with boys her own age, but adults, from the mailman to the grocery clerk, tended to jump out of their skins when confronted with her boldness and the reminder that they were staring down her shirt. Gold didn’t look up to her eyes for a good two seconds, and when he did, he stepped forward, cornering her with his body and cane against the table holding the figurines.

                “I know where your face is, dearie,” he said, voice quiet as ever, with a slight black edge to it. “If you didn’t want people to look, you wouldn’t wear that.” He was leaning forward, and she stood ramrod straight, refusing to be cowed by a man with a cane. “I’m not a schoolboy, all confused about the difference between _like_ and _need_ and _want_ , and saying _love_ when they mean _lust._ ”

                “I’m the one who prefers lust over everything,” Lacey quipped. “I’m all about reversing the gender stereotypes.” He chuckled at that, a dark sound, and it didn’t help that he was still leaning almost over her, speaking into her ear. She could feel, faintly, the heat from his body at her back. His cane pressed against her hip, where her music player was tucked into her pocket, and the song returned, almost making her giggle with the irony.

                “ _Encircle me, I need to be, taken down—“_ she pulled out the headphones, fighting back a laugh, and shoved roughly at his cane. To her surprise, it didn’t budge. She looked over her shoulder at that, frowning. His dark eyes were smirking at her.

                “You can’t play games with me, Miss French,” he said calmly, straightening and removing his cane from her path. Lacey sniffed at him, knowing full well that she was flushed and feeling that she had lost round one of this game he said they weren’t playing.

                “Well, I suppose I don’t want to buy anything from a man who says such things to me,” she said sourly. Damn him, this was her territory. She could reduce grown men—most of them—to awkward boys with a few words and looks. Apparently, the other maniac in town, with his wit and contracts, would need more effort. And—secretly—she relished being matched at her own game; the town’s Shylock-esque, letter-of-the-law loan shark was a tougher puzzle than the quarterback.

                Lacey swished out of the shop as best as she could, going to another album. She needed a more martial song.

**Author's Note:**

> The song Lacey's listening to is "The Con" by Tegan and Sara.


End file.
